At the Crossing Places (25 page)

I
HAVE TO FIND HER,” I SAID. “I MUST.”

Pip half-stumbled and indignantly swished his long tail. He didn't like having to carry us both.

“I'd hunt for my mother,” said Gatty, “if she was still alive and I didn't know who she was.”

“Because Sir John doesn't want me to,” I said, “it doesn't mean I can't.”

“That's not his mother,” Gatty observed.

“I know I have a duty to him,” I said, as much to myself as to Gatty, “but I keep wondering…If I were to ride over to Gortanore…Sir William's away!”

The sun kept winking at us as we rode down the track through high, waving trees, and there was time for everything! Time to talk, and time not to…time to dismount beside a little stream and feed each other with little lumps of cheese and bread I'd begged off Slim…time to splash each other and shout and laugh…time to find out about everyone.

“There are fifty-nine people living in Caldicot,” I told Gatty as we remounted, “and before we reach Ludlow I want to hear about each of them.”

Gatty laid one warm hand on my back. “My brother died,” she said quietly.

“Not Dusty!”

“He started laughing, and laughed until he choked, and no one could stop him.”

“Oh Gatty!” I cried. “When?”

“They didn't tell you,” she said.

“No. They must have wanted to let you.”

Gatty didn't reply. She just took hold of my shirt, and as we jogged along, tugged it a little.

“Little Dusty!” I said. “You were everything to him…You know, when Luke died, Oliver told us dead children become angels in heaven.”

Later, Merlin told me Oliver was completely wrong and didn't know what he was talking about, but I didn't tell Gatty that.

Gatty sniffed. “Ruth's pregnant,” she said.

“Already!”

“Five months married, five months gone. I reckon that'll come on Christmas Eve.”

“What about Lankin, then?” I asked.

“Just sits,” replied Gatty. “Half the day he's hot as any stew, that's what Jankin says. Takes his clothes off and just sits. Naked as a needle.”

I turned round and looked at Gatty over my shoulder. “He can't last long,” I said.

“You said that.”

“I hope he won't! It's not fair on you and Jankin.”

Gatty didn't reply.

“Well? Is it?”

“Nothing's not fair,” said Gatty.

“He and Hum should make things up once and for all, and then you can be betrothed.”

Ludlow Fair!

First we led Pip into a pen where there were dozens of other saddled horses, and I was glad then that I hadn't brought Bonamy over from Holt. He's so strong and handsome, and someone might have tried to steal him. We paid the keeper a farthing to feed Pip and look after him, and then we joined the crowd.

I did tell Gatty there would be lots of people, but she didn't realize there would be hundreds and hundreds. One thousand, even.

Stall holders bawling for attention! Bargaining! Blasts of laughter! The braying and neighing and snorting of all the animals in their pens. And everywhere, people jostling…

You can't walk in a straight line because people get in your way. You have to keep stepping sideways and using your elbows, and after a while, walking feels more like wading. Some of the time Gatty and I had to hold hands so we didn't lose each other.

We watched a man playing three pipes at the same time, one in his mouth and one in each nostril. And then we paid to see a woman put a dwarf in a coffin and cover the coffin with black sacking and saw the coffin in half. Everyone gasped, but somehow the dwarf had tied himself in a knot at one end. And after that, we paid to see the woman with three breasts, but it wasn't worth it.

“I've only got two-and-a-half pence,” I said.

“Don't matter!” Gatty said joyfully.

“Sweethearts!” shouted a man, and he grabbed my elbow.

“What?”

“Sweethearts, are you?”

“No! No, we're not.”

“Pastry hearts! Mincemeat tarts!”

“We're not hungry,” I said.

“I am and all,” said Gatty.

So I bought two chewets, but they were stuffed with gristle and sharp little bits of bone.

While Gatty and I were walking under the castle wall, we had a shock. We saw Johanna, the wisewoman.

“Quick!” I said, spinning Gatty round. “Before she sees us.”

“What's she doing here?”

“Selling her medicines,” I replied. “Some of them are true, like the ones she gives to people at Caldicot, but some are bogus. Tanwen told me.”

“Why do people buy them, then?”

“They're buying hope,” I said. “Hope is easy to sell.”

After that, I kept thinking I'd seen someone I knew: the peddler who stole Spitfire, and Haket, wearing a hood, selling relics. But then I really did see Miriam, hand in hand with a friend: the dark moons of her eyes, her solemn little face. I wanted to find out how she was, but by the time I'd told Gatty about her, she had skipped away again.

We stayed at the fair until the sun was quite low, and before we left, I bought a long, violet ribbon with my last farthing.

“To tie up your hair,” I told Gatty. “Or wind round your field hat. Or you can wear it like a belt.”

Gatty looked at me. Unblinking and grave.

“We going upstream?” she asked.

“Upstream?”

“Like you promised.”

“Gatty!” I said. “We can't do that as well. Not this time. I've got to leave the day after tomorrow.”

Gatty slowly lowered her eyes. Then she lowered her head.

“We will next time. Come on! We ought to be going.”

Gatty wound the ribbon round her left wrist. Round and round. Then she looked up again and tried to smile, and at once she broke into tears.

“Oh no!” I said helplessly.

Gatty rubbed her eyes against the violet ribbon, then fiercely shook her head.

On the long journey back to Caldicot, we didn't say very much. Not that we had nothing to say, but our hearts were heavy. Some of the time, Gatty put her arms round my waist and rested her head on my back.

If she were the daughter of a knight: Lord Stephen, or Sir Josquin, or Sir Walter…Or even the other way round: if I were the son of a miller or bowyer…And if I hadn't met Winnie…

I do hope Gatty and Jankin will be betrothed. But sometimes I think how she deserves better, and how unfair things are, and I wish—well, I don't think Jankin's really worthy of her.

“Will Hum beat you?” I asked.

“Don't matter.”

“Not with the whip?”

“What about you?” asked Gatty.

“I don't know,” I said. “Sir John would have while I lived here. Maybe he'll tell Lord Stephen.”

In the dark, we dismounted and walked up to the stables.

“You've got your ribbon?” I asked.

“Mmm,” murmured Gatty.

I pulled Gatty to me and she laid her warm cheek against mine.

A dog barked. Cleg's, probably. Or maybe Wat's. Sitting up here, in my writing-room, I can hear the same dog barking again now.

“I keep thinking,” Gatty said. “I can't say it exactly.”

“About us?”

“Best things,” said Gatty. “They don't never get lost.”

Y
OU HELP US AND WE'LL HELP YOU,” MAGGOT SAID.

“To find her?”

“Maybe.”

I didn't tell anyone what I was going to do, but soon after we left Caldicot I told Daw I could easily find my way back to Holt and sent him home. Then I rode to Gortanore. I knew Sir William was away, so I thought I might be able to find out more about my mother. But I didn't know that Lady Alice and Tom and Grace would be away too. They have gone to Verdon.

“Did she give you the ring?” I asked. “Herself?”

Thomas clucked. “Not so fast,” he said.

“I will,” I said. “I will help you. But how can I? I'm only a squire.”

“Not yet,” said Thomas.

“When Sir William's gone,” said Maggot.

“You mean…when he's dead?”

“And you're at Catmole.”

“If you'll bring us over,” Thomas said.

“To Catmole? But what about Lady Alice?”

“That's as may be,” Thomas said. “What we need is your word, Arthur.”

“Your promise,” said Maggot.

“But why can't you stay here?”

“Maybe we can and maybe we can't,” Thomas replied. “We're taking a risk even talking to you.”

Maggot sniffed and drew a finger across her throat.

“I promise then,” I said. “I promise to help you.”

“Right!” said Thomas, and he nodded at Maggot. “We won't forget that, will we, Maggot?”

“The ring, did she give it to you?”

Maggot nodded.

“When?”

“When we told her.”

“What?”

“About you.”

“She knows about me?” I exclaimed.

“Maggot told her,” said Thomas.

“When?”

Maggot scratched her head. Something fell out of it, and she crushed it under her left foot. “When was that, Tom?”

“When we was over,” Thomas said. “May or thereabouts.”

“Over where?” I asked.

Maggot's face narrowed. It was nothing but shifty eyes and a gap-toothed smile.

Thomas shook his head. “Too risky,” he said.

My heart was bursting. “Did she…did she want you to give me the ring? I mean, was it for me? What did she say? Is it a message?”

“One at a time,” said Thomas.

“But—”

Thomas looked intently at me with his one good eye. “Your
mother,” he said, “she gave Maggot the ring so's she could give it to you.”

“She did! Then what does it mean?”

“She don't know whether you want to see her.”

“Want to!” I yelled. “Of course I do!”

“You do now,” Thomas said, “but that all depends.”

“What do you mean?”

“On what you don't know.”

“I know she was living here when I was born,” I cried. “I know she was a village woman. I don't mind who she is.”

“We'll see about that,” Thomas said.

“Who gave her the ring? Sir William?”

Thomas nodded.

“Then he did!” I said breathlessly. “He did care for her.”

“I didn't say that, did I, Maggot?”

“Please!”

“That's enough for now,” Thomas said.

I can't really remember what happened during the next hour. I know Thomas and Maggot left me on my own, and I kept walking round and round Sir William's hall, sobbing. I know my whole body was hot and cold, as though I'd caught a terrible fever. I know that, before I left Gortanore, I begged them to tell me more.

“I promise,” I said. “I do promise to help you.”

“Poor soul!” said Thomas. “She didn't even know you were alive. Not until we told her. When they took you away, they let her think you were sickly and died.”

“And she thought they done away with you, and all,” Maggot said. “I told her you grown up in a fine household.”

“Can I see her?” I asked hoarsely. “Please! Where is she?”

Thomas clucked again. “That's not for us to say.”

“You said you'd help me.”

“What I'll do,” said Thomas, “is take her a message. That's a risk, mind. I'll tell her you want to see her and you don't care.”

“She's my mother!” I cried.

“She's afraid,” Maggot said.

“Not of me.”

“Partly that,” said Thomas. “And Sir William.”

“He won't know,” I said fiercely.

Thomas stared at me and slowly narrowed his eyes.

“I'm going away,” I said, “I have to. But only for six weeks. Will you tell her?”

A
T LAST!” EXCLAIMED LADY JUDITH. “YOU'RE VERY LATE
back, Arthur.”

“I'm sorry, my lady.”

“We were beginning to wonder whether we'd got the wrong day.”

“No.”

“No! Well, it's much too late to hear everything now. Lord Stephen has already retired. You can tell us tomorrow.”

“Yes, Lady Judith.”

Lady Judith looked round the hall. “God's grace!” she said. “May He save us all from the dangers of the night.” Then she stared at me. She knows there's something I haven't explained.

Before long, I crept up here to my room. There are so many things I wish I'd asked Thomas and Maggot. “Exactly the same.” That's what I heard Maggot whisper when I went to Gortanore last March, and I want to know whether she meant I actually look like my mother. I didn't even ask her that.

I took my gold ring out of its silken bed, and for a long time I cradled it. Little Jesus giving His mother…what? A stone? An apple? His own heart? Her long fingers contain Him and set Him free. Both at the same time.

Then I unwrapped my seeing stone, and at once I saw Queen Guinevere talking to Sir Bors.

“Fie on him!” Guinevere exclaims.

“I'm sure there's an explanation, my lady,” Sir Bors replies.

“You're telling me Sir Lancelot was wearing a lady's sleeve? Fastened to his helmet?”

“He tricked us all,” says Sir Bors.

“He's false,” says the queen. “He's unworthy, and I'm glad you did wound him.”

Sir Bors knits his brows.

“I don't care if his wound is the end of him.”

“Lady,” says Sir Bors. “Lancelot is my friend. You mustn't speak of him like that.”

“I'll say what I want!” cries the queen. “What did it look like? The sleeve?”

“It was scarlet,” Sir Bors replies, “embroidered with large pearls.”

The queen tosses her hair into flames. “Lancelot!” she cries. “He's so puffed up! Anyhow, you bettered him.”

“No, my lady,” Sir Bors replies. “I did not. He unhorsed thirty men. He made us all submit.”

“I suppose it belonged to Elaine of Astolat,” the queen says. “I keep hearing how Lancelot adores her.”

“I don't believe that,” Sir Bors replies. “He loves each lady as much as he loves the others.”

“Pah!” spits Guinevere, and she turns her back on Sir Bors and walks out of her solar into a room overlooking the river Thames. Arthur-in-the-stone is standing beside a window.

A slender boat swathed in thick, black silk is riding gently on the russet-and-silver water. There's one oarsman standing
near the stern, and his oars leave whorls of silver in the boat's wake.

“Sir Kay!” calls the king. “Sir Brandiles! Come down with me. I want to know what this is about.”

“I'm coming too,” Guinevere says.

The oarsman steers his little boat alongside the landing stage. And there, lying within it, is the body of a pale-skinned young woman. She's covered with cloth of gold up to her waist, and lying on a bed of silk cushions—arum and lavender, sage and yew.

“Who is she?” Sir Kay asks the boatman.

The boatman doesn't reply.

“She's holding a letter,” says the queen.

Now the king steps down into the boat and bends over the young woman. She is almost smiling. Gently he looses the letter from her tight, cold grip:

Knight of knights! Sir Lancelot! I longed to win
you, but death has won me. I loved you.
I loved you so wildly I could no longer endure
my own feelings, and my name was Elaine of Astolat.

Let any woman who has ever loved a man listen
to me. Pray for me, and have Masses said for me:
This is my last wish. Sweet Lord Jesus, I
tried to obey your commandments, and I died a virgin.

Pray for my soul, Sir Lancelot. Knight of knights!

The little boat rocks and gently bumps against the landingstage. The king and queen and the two knights gaze down at Elaine. So fair, so white.

“Sir Kay,” says the king. “Send for Sir Lancelot.”

My seeing stone. For a while it is stars trembling: It is tears and silent dark water…

“I had no wish to be the cause of her death,” Sir Lancelot says, “and I owe her much. She nursed me night and day when I was wounded.”

“You wore her sleeve,” Guinevere says.

“I wore her sleeve,” says Sir Lancelot, “and I've never done as much for any other woman.”

“Why? Why did you?” Guinevere demands.

“As a disguise at the Winchester tournament. I borrowed her brother's shield, because he'd only just been made a knight, so I knew no one would recognize it. And I wore her scarlet sleeve because people know I never wear a lady's colors.”

“Is that why?” Guinevere asks.

“And to please her,” Lancelot replies. “She was a good, sweet girl, but she loved me too much.”

“If you'd been even kinder,” Guinevere says, “you might have saved her life.”

“My lady,” says Sir Lancelot, “it would have made no difference at all. She wanted to be my wife, that or my lover. Nothing else would satisfy her. And I did do more: I told her to love and marry another knight, and offered her an income of one thousand pounds each year.”

“But she loved you,” says Guinevere.

“My lady,” said Sir Lancelot, “I've no wish to be compelled to love. Love must well up in the heart; it cannot be forced.”

“That is the truth,” says Arthur-in-the-stone. “A man must be free to love whomsoever he pleases. If he's forced into something, he'll only grow bitter. Sir Lancelot! You must arrange for Elaine's funeral.”

“I will, sire,” says Sir Lancelot. He bends his head to King Arthur, and now he leaves the hall, followed by the queen.

“When I heard about that sleeve, I was so angry with you,” the queen says.

“Without cause,” Sir Lancelot says.

“And jealous.”

“Not for the first time.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“Where there is love…” Sir Lancelot replies.

Lightly he lays his hand on Guinevere's sleeve.